


How He Did It

by mongoose_bite



Series: Dyce the Incredibly Easy Breton [9]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Rough Sex, Voice Kink, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-21
Updated: 2012-11-21
Packaged: 2017-11-19 04:43:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/569224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mongoose_bite/pseuds/mongoose_bite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snow Veil Sanctum. Dyce. Mercer. Puzzle door. Resolved Sexual Tension.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How He Did It

We all want what we can’t have. It was something Dyce had come to terms with a long time ago; he didn’t do the whole pining thing. Either he got what he wanted, or he didn’t, but there was always plenty of fish in the sea. So Mercer’s pointed glares, offhand insults and barked orders were water off a duck’s back.

Mercer was easy to ignore.

At least, while he was cooped up in the Ratway. Dyce had to admit, he was an altogether different beast in action.

They’d left without a word to the others in the dead of night, stealing a pair of horses from the Riften stables and thundering north. Mercer wasn’t going to stop for Alduin himself. They’d run into some bandits and Mercer had killed one before he’d swung himself out of the saddle.

They arrived at Snow Veil Sanctum in record time, wind-burned and slightly bloody. Mercer moved on the balls of his feet like a much younger man, alert for danger. They found Karliah’s camp, and Mercer knelt and put his hand on the ashes of her fire. He looked more animated and alive than Dyce had ever seen him.

“We’re not far behind her,” he said.

Dyce nodded.

It was a relief to get out of the wind and cold and into Snow Veil Sanctum, although the air wasn’t much warmer. Dyce cursed himself for missing how exactly Mercer had got the door open, and he suspected Mercer wouldn’t oblige with a repeat performance.

Mercer unsheathed his blades and looked at Dyce, “Let’s see what you can do, Pup.”

It started sensibly enough, they stepped over ancient traps and eviscerated the living dead, quickly and professionally. And Mercer was clearly getting bored.

“Duck.” A throwaway word, barely audible. Dyce ducked, and Mercer’s blade sailed over his head and decapitated the draugr rising next to him.

Dyce didn’t object; he could play too. He fired arrows right past Mercer’s ear and the older man didn’t even blink. Their blades flashed closer, leaving finer and finer margins when they fought side by side.

Mercer snagged a tripwire, deliberately, and Dyce dived out the way of the poison darts that followed. Mercer chuckled. Dyce looked up from where he was crouched on the floor to see amusement on that weathered face.

“Are you flirting with me, boss?” he asked. If this was Mercer’s idea of foreplay, well, it would be in-character.

Mercer just shrugged and strode past him. Dyce wasn’t hearing a ‘no’. Once this was over he’d have to make an effort to get Mercer outside the Ratway again.

Mercer didn’t let up. Dyce prided himself on being fast and flexible and light on his feet, but he had to admit, Mercer gave him a run for his money. The sheer ferocity with which he sliced up his enemies was something Dyce couldn’t match. So he went for speed instead, trying to get ahead, dancing around the traps, Mercer breathing down his neck half-ally, half-pursuer. Because if he messed up, Mercer was likely to take an ear off. And Dyce didn’t think he’d even necessarily apologise.

Hurrying on ahead, Dyce came up against one of the Nords’ ancient puzzle doors. He gave it a hopeful shove, and swore as Mercer stalked up behind him.

“I hope you’ve got the claw for this thing,” Dyce said.

“Karliah will have it,” Mercer said. “But don’t worry, there’s just a little trick with these.” He looked over his shoulder as Dyce drifted closer, eager to learn said trick, or at least pick up some idea of how it might be managed. Mercer scowled at him, “Back off would you?”

“Nope,” Dyce said. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Dyce remained at Mercer’s shoulder, while Mercer glared at him.

“Am I putting you off?” he asked.

“Not exactly,” Mercer replied with a growl. He looked back at the lock and then at Dyce again, apparently making up his mind about something. Dyce found out exactly what he was making up his mind about when Mercer grabbed his shoulder, hauling him around in front of the master thief, who promptly ground a leather-clad thigh between the younger man’s legs and thrust his tongue between his teeth.

“Murmph!” Dyce exclaimed in sheer surprise. He would have protested that he wasn’t that sort of man, but honestly? He was that sort of man. And if his grouchy and grizzled guildmaster wanted a piece of him, he could have it. He could have several.

Mercer was stubble and spit and teeth, and Dyce snarled against his mouth and attacked him back, and pulled him closer. He got another surprise when the hands on his shoulders shoved him away again, hard into the stone door; he could feel the ridges of one of the carvings pressing against his spine.

“If you want this,” Mercer said, his eyes glittering. “You fight me for it.”

“What?” Dyce smirked, “Oh, so that’s what gets you hard?”

“You shut your face,” Mercer growled, and raised a heavy, calloused hand to slap him. Dyce was faster; his own forearm went up to block, and he jabbed, mean but not hard, with his left hand at Mercer’s side. Mercer bared his teeth, but it was closer to a smile than a snarl. His hand dropped and Dyce blocked again.

With his back to the door, Dyce was forced on the defensive; Mercer wasn’t exactly trying to punch him properly, just aggravate him into a mistake. Dyce played the same game, although aggravation wasn’t what he was aiming for.

“Are you sure,” Dyce managed to get a word in edgeways, “that this is a good idea?” He’d remembered they were here for more than an excuse to fuck.

“We’ll know if she opens the door,” Mercer pointed out. Their breathing was harsh and ragged, and Dyce’s jabs were getting harder, and meaner; he was impatient, dammit. This sort of foreplay would only hold his interest for so long. He was just about to say so when Mercer feinted, got under his guard and grabbed him.

With the same strength that Dyce had seen channeled through his blades, Mercer lifted him up, his armour snagging against the wall, his hands scrabbling for purchase, and crashed into him, his teeth at Dyce’s neck. Dyce braced himself as best he could, grabbing at the puzzle mechanism and wrapping his legs around Mercer’s waist.

He sank his teeth into Mercer’s ear and pulled at his greying hair.

“Oh, _fuck_.” He could hear the twist of desire in Mercer’s voice, and that alone had Dyce’s hips rising and his cock hardening. Finally got to you, you bastard.

Mercer was gotten to. He crushed Dyce against the door, and Dyce could feel his cock jabbing through their armour.

Armour, yeah. Mercer remembered that and dropped Dyce without warning. Dyce had most of his weight on his arms but was obliged to scramble and untangle his legs from around Mercer before he landed on the floor.

“Off or I’ll cut it off,” Mercer growled, but he needn’t have made the threat; Dyce was nothing if not a quick-change artist. And he was more interested in what Mercer was doing than what he was saying, and he kept his eyes on the older man as a broad, scarred chest, liberally sprinkled with grey hair was revealed under the leather. Dyce wondered if he was looking at his own future; if he was, he had very little to complain about, except for the fact that Mercer didn’t look like he would allow him to spend as much time as he would want to examining him more closely.

Mercer’s cock was thick and curved like a Redguard’s blade. Dyce only caught a glimpse of it before Mercer had him up against the door again, said member pressing almost painfully into his hip.

“Up you get,” Mercer had apparently unilaterally decided on what position they were going to use and Dyce hooked his legs around Mercer’s hips again, this time skin gripping skin.

He was slightly apprehensive. Mercer was impatient and his cock was thick and Dyce wasn’t a shrinking violet but he didn’t think he’d take it that easily, no matter how turned on he was.

“Hey, boss-”

“Yeah, yeah. Since you’ve not been entirely useless.” Mercer spat on his hand and Dyce rolled his head back and concentrated on breathing and relaxing as Mercer’s blunt fingers rubbed and pushed at his entrance.

He eased one inside and Dyce’s entire body convulsed and he gasped and then cried out. Mercer’s other hand clamped down over his mouth.

“She’ll hear you,” he warned.

Dyce took his point, and then sank his teeth, not gently, into Mercer’s fingers.

“Ah! You fu-” That was enough for Mercer. He took his hands away, and gripped his cock in one hand and Dyce’s hip in the other, and with no further ceremony thrust himself inside. He took his time, at least, but Dyce was still gasping and twitching, his eyes shut in concentration, as he felt the friction burn slightly. Mercer’s breath was hot on his chest.

“Bosss,” he hissed.

“I said quiet.” He covered Dyce’s mouth again, and then slid two fingers in past his teeth, only grunting when Dyce bit them. Then he started sliding them, in and out, and moved his hips to match. Dyce could only make muffled moans. His arms were braced against the door, the muscles tensed with the strain.

Mercer gave Dyce only a few slow thrusts to adjust before he jerked his hips forward, hard, and then again, and Dyce wasn’t sure if he was protesting or not. His back was abraded by the stonework as Mercer practically fucked him into it. Dyce could see Mercer had his own lower lip between his teeth, his brow wrinkled in concentration as his hair swung before his eyes.

It should have been cold down here, but Mercer was like a furnace. Dyce could feel sweat trickling down his stomach, and spit working its way past Mercer’s fingers. Mercer was filling him, over and over, hard enough that each time Mercer pushed forward Dyce’s cock bounced against his own stomach.

He couldn’t do anything with it. It ached for attention, and Dyce could see Mercer watching him and his reactions, but no matter how much Dyce chewed and spit, the guildmaster seemed to prefer finger-fucking Dyce’s mouth than bringing his cock any relief.

Mercer groaned and took his fingers out of Dyce’s mouth. “Fuck it,” he growled. “Make some noise; what’s she gonna do about it?” Dyce didn’t think she’d hear them through the heavy stone door anyway.

He gasped and worked his jaw, now that he was free to do so. Mercer had both hands on his his hips now, holding him steady with bruising force while he rutted him harder.

“I want to hear my name,” Mercer said.

“Fffuck you,” Dyce spat back.

Mercer brought himself to a halt, somehow, hilted deep in Dyce’s arse. “You want me to keep going?” he asked.

Dyce looked at him, “You really wanna stop?”

Mercer glared at him, his chest heaving. Dyce didn’t like the look in his eye. He snaked one hand over Dyce’s hip and cradled his balls on his fingers. “You were saying?” He squeezed, not hard, not yet.

Dyce shifted his jaw, twisting and squirming, his arms protesting at the weight they’d been forced to bear for so long.

The older man changed tactics, and ran his thumb up the length of Dyce’s cock. It jumped and Dyce shouted, “Mercer!” He might have meant ‘mercy’.

Mercer started fucking him again, and Dyce did as he was bid.

“Mercer, Mercer, Mercer, Mercer,” Dyce chanted in time to Mercer’s thrusts. Egomaniac, he thought, but he couldn’t deny he enjoyed the effect Mercer’s name had on the man himself. His movements grew wilder, and his gasps and grunts added counterpoint to Dyce’s chant.

“Mercerrrr,” Dyce purred, and Mercer palmed his cock in appreciation. His voice was all Dyce really had to work with, and he used it shamelessly; he whimpered and shouted and rolled Mercer’s name around his mouth, and Mercer stroked him harder, fucked him faster.

“You, fucking, tart,” Mercer panted, and Dyce could hear him starting to come undone and that was enough.

Dyce was seeing stars. He forgot Mercer’s name and just groaned, tensing around Mercer, his legs threatening to cramp up, his cock jetting in Mercer’s hand over his stomach and chest, as Mercer rammed himself in deep once more, twice, and then he was shouting too, snarling.

Open-mouthed, Mercer pressed his face against Dyce’s shoulder as Dyce bucked and milked him.

Mercer lifted his head and stared at Dyce for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

“Boss?” Dyce asked.

Mercer looked away, and turned his attention to separating them. Dyce’s arms gave way soon after that and he tumbled to the floor in a sweaty, come-smeared heap. He was going to feel this adventure tomorrow he could tell, but he was still good for whatever awaited them up ahead.

Dyce collected his armour and they got dressed, and Dyce was checking his weapons when he heard a loud click followed by a grinding sound. The door started to drop open.

“You son of a-” Now he’d never know how he did it.

Mercer smirked at him over his shoulder, “You’re just too easily distracted, Dyce.”


End file.
